A Zombie History Lesson
by CallMeLy
Summary: They call them zombies. That's not exactly right. Let me tell you the story of the Seabrook mutants. A one-shot collection all about zombism and the history of the zombie community. Originally a stand-alone one-shot based on my mutants theory.
1. Lesson 1: The Outbreak

**Disclaimer** \- I don't own ZOMBIES or any of the characters involved. Copyright to Walt Disney Studios

Here's a little stand-alone ZOMBIES one-shot, but this theory is gonna come up in small doses in my other fics! [ **EDIT - this fic is now a one-shot collection!** ]

I made a post on Tumblr a while back with my theory about the "zombies" actually being mutants and how the Z-bands work in relation to that, and since a lot of my headcanons that are going into the one-shots revolve around this theory, I thought it'd useful to have it here, and that meant writing a story to explain it! And it seems like a good idea to post it separately, cuz it can really be it's own thing outside of the one-shot collections. This is written from the POV of an unnamed zombie, though I am thinking of it as my OC/zombiesona Lizzy, who may or may not appear in a fic at some point, I really don't know

So, anyway, here's what I think went down in Seabrook after the outbreak...

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Lesson 1: The Outbreak

Fifty years ago, there was an accident at Seabrook Energy Plant. Everyone knows about it – about the outbreak. You've heard the story, right? An accident involving lime soda set off the apocalypse. Well, there's a lot more to it than that. And the "zombies"? Not _exactly_ zombies. I mean, you can call us zombies. _We_ call ourselves zombies. We do look like zombies, and we do move like zombies, and we do sound like zombies. Without our Z-bands, at least. I guess they don't teach them what _really_ happened back then on the humans' side of town. They don't really like to talk a lot about it over here, either, but we still _know_. We are told about our own history. What happened to our grandparents fifty years ago. It's a long story, but you know what? You should probably hear it.

You know how it started – with the spill. Someone was dumb enough to leave a bottle of soda lying around in a nuclear power plant, and someone else was dumb enough to knock it over. Things got out of control pretty fast; electronics going haywire, soda mixing with chemicals, explosions, mass panic, the works. Noxious green gas came seeping out of every crack. The whole plant was evacuated but it didn't do much to help. The haze blew west when in rolled out of the doors and windows like a thick fog and not one of those people could escape it in time. Once they inhaled it, they were gone. They all got sick, really bad, really fast, or that's how it seemed. This wasn't how radiation poisoning was supposed to work, but this was a totally unique incident.

Within hours, their heart rates were dropping to nearly nothing, leaving their skin pale, their breathing harsh and shallow and their veins bulging. Their muscles constricted and loosened in all the wrong places, making their movements stiff and their speech slurred and guttural. Their eyes sunk in, dark and red. It flipped a switch in their brains and soon whatever impulse control they once had was gone. Long forgotten feral instincts kicked in. Cravings for flesh and brains. They became savage, ready to attack, to kill if needed, to hunt to survive. But, somehow, they were still alive. The radiation had mutated them, not killed them. Don't ask me how, but something about that lime soda must have altered the effects. Who'd have thought? Over the coming days, the so-called monsters' hair started growing in a lime green, a reminder of the stupid, stupid mistake that made them this way.

The west was overrun by the mutants and when they came stalking towards the east side, the humans left there saw what looked to them like dead and dying bodies up and moving, shambling about in search of prey. Zombies. The horrifically pale skin, the red eyes, the loosely hanging jaws and eerily stiff movements. These were _zombies_. So they thought.

Some people were lost to the zombie hordes, others were bitten, maimed, permanently scarred. It's hard to think about that now, that our own grandparents could do those things, when _we_ knew them when they were stable. We knew who they really were, still the same people they had been before the accident, just.. altered. Like all of us.

Reinforcements were called in to push them back and detain them but it was all too clear that their mutated muscles were far stronger and far more durable than an average human's: it was nearly impossible to stop them or hurt them.

That's when the wall was built, to divide the two sides of Seabrook – the mutants and their unfortunate victims were barricaded out.

People were scared – scared of their former neighbours, friends, even family. They'd witnessed them in the worst possible state. The image stuck. Every scientist and doctor still living in Seabrook, and some called in from neighbouring towns, worked to find a solution, a cure, _anything_. And as they did, the zombie patrol was formed. Mostly police officers and other "trained specialists". Trained in what exactly, I don't know. And now they were getting even _more_ special training. The patrol was sent into Zombie Town – what they had started calling the west side of Seabrook – to bring back test subjects.

They ran test after test, looking for something that might bring the restrained zombie-mutants in their containment facilities back to some level of sentience. After some time, there came a sign of promise; electric shocks could temporarily relax the muscles, increase the heart rate and stimulate the inactivated brain cells, which meant strapping them into electric-chair-style machines. The jolts of electricity were painful, but they got the results they wanted, if only for a short period of time. The zombies could move better, speak better, think better, but it didn't last long. They needed a continuous electric current flowing through them for it to really work, for them to be "normal" again. They were dragged back to Zombie Town.

Back in Zombie Town, the ones who had been left would get violent, territorial. They attacked each other, but it wasn't so easy for one to kill the other. But the test subjects, they were different now. Less threatening. Less savage. And way less likely to bite and claw and attack on sight. They retained the slightest traces of the "cure" for a short time, capable of thought or speech to an extent. That was when the beginnings of Zombie-tongue came about. New (or altered) words that their facial muscles were capable of voicing and it took little thought to piece them together with less rules and less structure than English. More test subjects were taken and each time, they returned with a little more humanity, if still feral and essentially living in dying bodies. A community was building.

The patrol kept working. The Z-bands are relatively new – there's been a lot of other devices over the years. The first looked something like a battery pack on a collar, worn around the neck, which shocked the zombies at regular intervals. Not perfect (nowhere near perfect), but it got the job done. They were tried out on zombies still in Zombie Town this time, and on a larger number. The batteries would wear out sooner or later, but they lasted long enough for the zombie subculture to grow, and for them to once again have real relationships with each other. The patrol infiltrated Zombie Town to replace the collars and, seeing their success, brought more. Things were looking up – the zombie society was growing, becoming more defined – but not for long.

This was a threat. As far as the humans, particularly the zombie patrol, could tell, this was a mass gathering of zombies who could turn on them at any moment. It didn't matter that they were finally living normal lives. The humans couldn't let go of the old image they had of monsters terrorising their town. The government issued regulations: uniforms (to identify them, as if it wasn't obvious enough already), no pets (they might eat them), no meat in their diets (it might trigger those old cravings) and no being out after dark. Once the humans felt they could trust the collars were working, zombies were allowed to work in Seabrook, but _only_ work. They _lived_ in Zombie Town. And only the most menial of jobs. And nothing that involved direct contact with humans.

The collars were replaced with a different device after a few years, then that was replaced, then updated, again and again, until the Z-band. They can be charged, with the battery needing to be replaced twice a year. This was the closest to normal the zombies had ever been able to live. The consistent electromagnetic pulses emitted by the bands is enough to stimulate the mutated genes, though nothing could ever change the lime green hair. The constant reminder. But the zombies learned to find some pride in that, and in a lot of things. We'd come far. Seabrook might label us as different, and therefore wrong, but to us, it's who we are.

Besides, I've realised a thing or two since the integration began at the start of the school year. Did you ever notice, there's a lot of talented athletes here? Cheerleaders, mostly. With strong, durable muscles. So maybe they can't throw themselves against the concrete and bounce back up without so much as a scratch, but some of them do seem to take a tumble pretty well.

Some people wonder how Seabrook came to have such an impressive cheer squad. I can't help but wonder how many of those unaffected humans were bitten all those years ago…

It's all in the genes, you know?


	2. Lesson 2: The First Zombie

**Disclaimer** \- I don't own ZOMBIES or any of the characters involved. Copyright to Walt Disney Studios

I'm finally coming back to the history lesson fic! I'm continuing this now as a series of one-shots explaining my headcanons about zombism and zombie culture, all from the point of view of my zombiesona, Lizzy (who you can see in my icon~)

If you read my other fics, and maybe fist-it-out and krut09's fics too, you will have noticed we use phrases like "oh, my Z", "for Z's sake" etc. I did explain this in an A/N at some point but if you haven't seen that, I will explain again: the production designer of ZOMBIES, Mark Hofeling, says on his website that the mural painted on the elevator doors in the power plant shows "the genesis of the first zombie, Z". I thought this was a really interesting concept so started the whole "oh, my Z" thing from there and I've been gradually building up this idea of who exactly Z was. Here is his story...

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Lesson 2: The First Zombie

Someone had to be the first.

When the accident at Seabrook Energy Plant happened, the first person to inhale the toxic fumes, and thus the first person to go through the long and agonising process of mutation, was a man whose old identity is gone. No-one knows if he was the one to spill the lime soda, but I suppose that doesn't really matter, does it? He was the first zombie, that's what we're talking about here. His heartrate was already dropping by the time the evacuation began and when he was found, it seemed like it was too late to save him. The paramedics and police officers all expected him to die within the hour, but he survived long past that.

He would try to grab at them as they restrained him and dragged him to an ambulance, eyes staring blankly, teeth gnashing and the colour draining fast from this skin. He was snarling and growling; his brain functions were the next thing to go and all that he had left were his most feral instincts. Then some time after, while he was being transported to the hospital, his growls turned into groans and wails and screeches of pain. Though it shouldn't have been possible with the lack of blood flowing through most of his body, his arms and legs were moving in completely inhuman ways, muscles around his joints weakened to the point they could practically disintegrate if you weren't careful, but tightening and growing exceedingly stronger pretty much everywhere else. His veins bulged, empty and black, and dark redness circled his eyes.

The man was beyond any level of comprehension now. He could no longer speak with his facial muscles burning and nothing even closely resembling language left in his mind. His humanity was deteriorating fast. The other victims of the accident had been left where they were – it was far too dangerous to bring more of them in and besides, there wasn't any way to reverse the mutation. At least, not yet. That was why they took him. He was stripped of his human name, he wasn't going to remember it anyway, and he was completely severed from his past life. Now, he was just Z.

Contrary to popular belief, by the way, that initial isn't for "zombie"; it stands for "zero", as in " _patient_ zero". The first to be infected, which... is _not_ the right word for this situation. But it's the term they chose nonetheless. Patient zero. The one it started with.

Z was also the first test subject. They needed to learn everything they could about the mutation from him and what they could do, if anything, to either cure the zombie plague, or exterminate them. This was when the barrier was built, to keep the remaining zombies contained while the humans experimented on Z. Every time they confirmed something worked on Z, they went into Zombie Town to capture others and test it out on them as well. He was put into the electric chair. He wore the first shock collar that would eventually pave the way for the Z-band technology. He gained back his mind, his sentience and his reasoning. But he never remembered his human name.

Now that he had a personality again, he wanted out. And with how inexperienced and ignorant the newly formed zombie patrol still was, it wasn't hard to fool them into thinking he was still too dangerous to fight. He was lucky they didn't have the means to sedate the zombies yet, and it wasn't too difficult for him to escape and find his way back to Zombie Town. The guards he found at the barrier assumed he had broken out from inside and he didn't resist when they forced him through the gate. Now, he was with his people.

When the zombies who had been taken to containment before recognised him, they welcomed him. They taught him to speak in the language they were developing and asked him what he knew about the humans' experiments and what they had planned for them. The patrol returned again, now looking for the previous test subjects to observe their progress, but also looking for the escaped patient zero. Z was an asset to the zombies, though, and they kept him hidden from the humans for as long as they could. He gave what reassurance he could to his people, both those who had already gone before and those being taken for the first time to be given shock collars. The zombies started to see him as something of a leader. He was experienced and after going through the experiments, he was further along in his process of regaining his humanity than any of them. And besides, he was the first zombie.

So many of them had forgotten their human names, even now, and the few who did felt so disconnected from their pasts. To show their solidarity and loyalty to Z, and to their building community as a whole, every zombie chose a new name. Each family picked a name they felt connected them to their new identities, and every individual zombie chose a first name that included a "Z" somewhere in it. Z was touched.

It wasn't long before they had to let him go. He'd need to be given the new devices that were being built to replace the shock collars which would eventually become the Z-bands. He went willingly and calmly, knowing it was necessary, and the zombies couldn't help being awed by how gracefully he accepted it. He knew better than any of them what sort of things could happen in zombie containment, and yet he did it. Because in the end, it could benefit his people. If it could end up giving them even a touch of their humanity back, it was worth whatever he would be put through.

The other zombies who had been gathered up by the patrol this time looked to Z for comfort and guidance on how containment would treat them. He taught them everything they needed to know and they trusted him completely. And thankfully, this time, the patrol released him again afterwards along with the rest of the zombies. He would be sent back when it came time for another update, but now, he had a home in Zombie Town.

We learned about ourselves – about zombies – from Z. Including that it was possible for a zombie to die.

It was the first ever zombie rights protest and everyone who was able to marched from their homes, the crowd building and building as they made their way through the slums, towards the main gate of the barrier where most of the patrol's guards stood, and at the front, leading them all, was Z. He had totally and completely accepted the role they had offered him as their leader and he was prepared to lay it all on the line for his people.

The patrol were going to try to force him back into containment again. It had been quite some time by now since the last experiments were conducted – their technology had progressed to the point that all zombies could function virtually the same as humans – and they demanded that he return to his old cell to continue once more.

The zombies protected him, or at least they tried to. They tried to reason with the patrol, stating their requests for equal rights to the humans, which turned into insisting. Then people were shouting. Zombies were arrested, and that led to arguing, fighting, rioting.

In all the chaos, Z was taken from them.

There was a new test waiting for him; thus far, they had been trying to control and "tame" the zombies but now, there was a push for an actual cure.

The question was what could possibly cure zombism? Could anything? The fact that it was a mutation was still under debate at this time so anything could happen. The first potential cure the patrol's scientists proposed: limes. If a mixture of lime soda and radiation had caused the outbreak in the first place, who was to say pure lime couldn't have some effect on zombies? And it did. Exactly the opposite effect they had hoped for. A short while after they had force-fed nothing more than lime juice to Z, he was regressing. It was like when they first found him in the Seabrook Energy Plant, feral and deranged, and his collar wasn't doing anything to stop it.

He was restrained but no matter what they did, no matter how strong the electromagnetic pulses or electric shocks they fed into him, there was no chance of him turning back. In the end, they had to kill him.

Every zombie mourned. We still mourn. Every year, on the anniversary of Z's death, we observe a day of remembrance. We uphold the naming tradition in his honour. And we talk about him as if he was a saint.

Because to the first zombies, to our parents and grandparents, he was.


End file.
